Useful
by Savvy Recluse
Summary: John's POV, Is he at least a bit useful to Sherlock at all?   Still rubbish at summaries. Can be viewed as Slash if you squint.


**AN:** Just another little drabble based off another sentence in the original stories, I really do love participating in this meme.

Characters do not belong to me, they belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss.

I do not benefit from this in anyway, all mistakes are mine and pardon for my americanisms, I hope they don't bother too much. :)

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><p>Sherlock Holmes closed his eyes and placed his elbows upon the arms of his chair, with his finger-tips together. I had once asked him why he would take that pose, either at a crime scene or at our flat. If I would have taken a guess I would have said he was shooting at an imaginary enemy, it seemed like a childish thing to do but then again this was my flatmate I was talking about. He hadn't even bothered to look up at me when he answered my query.<p>

First he commended me for being observant although not as good as he. I didn't take offense, coming from Sherlock this was as close to a compliment I would get. He explained how this pose helped him relax, and sharpen his thinking process. I had expected a more in depth explanation, but he had gone silent yet again. I knew better than to bother him now, so I went about my business and left to the surgery, leaving my elusive flatmate to his own musings.

After a day filled with patients, patients who consisted of people who self diagnosed themselves by looking around on the net, four of them in actuality being ill, I returned to Baker street. I trudged up the stairs and entered our flat, only to find that Sherlock had not moved an inch, still sitting on my chair in the same pose. I could somewhat understand now what he meant when he said it helps him relax. His body might have been sitting on that chair as still as a statue, but I knew his mind was elsewhere. He never looked so serene as he looked at this moment. I tried not to disturb him, and grabbed my laptop and went to sit on the couch, the one Sherlock preferred to sulk in when he was in a foul mood. I would have sat on the recliner I preferred, my chair as I called it, but Sherlock had taken ownership of it.

I opened my computer and began to explore the net, anything to further my knowledge on the current case Sherlock was working on, I wanted to be useful to him. Finding nothing, I stopped on my blog, the cursor blinking back at me as I tried to find the correct sequence of keys. Now I really wish I knew how to type quickly, my thought traveled far faster than my fingers did and that resulted in me losing my place often whenever I was typing. Finally after some fumbling, I managed to get an equal pace between my mind and my body. I hadn't gotten very far when my computer was lifted off of my lap and onto Sherlock's, who was now seated next to me.

"Sherlock! I was using that, can't you go and fetch your computer?"

" Mine is on the table and it is not on, yours was closer and is on. Conclusion, yours was more convenient."

"What about the fact that I was using it?"

"Irrelevant, I am using it now."

"Get on with it then, hurry up. I still need it."

He typed something up, faster than I could ever manage much to my envy, and placed it back onto my lap. I was going to start typing again when Sherlock moved from his position on the couch. He stretched out and placed his feet on my lap, nearly knocking my computer down had I not lifted it up.

"What ARE you doing?"

"Thinking."

"Couldn't you I don't know, move somewhere else?"

"No."

"No? Is that it? Is that all you're going to tell me?"

". . . . . . "

"Fine then I'll move."

"I would prefer it if you don't."

"And why the hell not?"

"You moving would disturb my thinking process, and I always think better when I'm around my blogger."

I blinked, "You're telling me the reason you did not move from my chair, even when I had left, was because you couldn't gather your thoughts?"

"I had to sit in your chair."

"Why?"

"It smells like you."

I should have been worried, even slightly appalled, but I found that I was flattered. Sherlock can't think clearly if I'm not in the room in some way? ME, an ordinary civilian, when did I get so much power over Sherlock Holmes?

"You're not ordinary John, you are quite exceptional. Now do sit down so you can tell me what you've gathered."

I resumed my position, placing my laptop on the coffee table and began to go over what we both knew about the case. Who knew that my the little observation about the color of the cats' tail would help at all, I mean I certainly didn't. As he rushed out the door, yelling something about the color green and paint I smiled knowing that I could be useful to him even just a bit.


End file.
